miðvikudagur, febrúar 14, 2007


It's coming down sharp and wet under the streetlamps, making a crust over everything. You have to stamp your foot through with every step.

Earlier it was sugary, floury, light. Now it is sharp and wet; it is making new shapes at the edges of things. Where the trunk of a car curves downwards it has cut the snowcap into glistening angular pillars, white stuðlaberg.

Engin ummæli:

Hvaðan þið eruð